Baden (Pittsburgh Titans 1)

I get sucked into reading up on the interior design program, equally excited about the prospect of going to school for something that holds so much of my interest and passion, and overwhelmed whether this is even a good idea. Baden urged me to do it, but I’d like to talk to him some more. To Frankie, as well, and of course, my parents.

I pull out a notepad and write down questions. When that’s done, I flip to my browser to search for more online universities, because maybe I can do something from the comfort of my home.

And that’s when it hits me.

I’m stalling.

I’m doing everything under the sun except go to the grocery store like I so bravely decided to do—I look at the clock—hours ago.

Crap. It’s just past four thirty p.m., and the entire day has been wasted by my subconscious avoidance of leaving the house.

Shame washes through me, and I scurry to put my shoes on, rushing myself out the door so I can’t change my mind.

Before I pull out of the garage, I shoot Baden a quick text. I don’t like bothering him during the day, although I know he’d tell me nothing is a bother, but I’m doing this to make sure I follow through.

Going to the grocery store. Let me know if you need anything.

There.

It’s done.

I’m committed to going because I told Baden I was, and I don’t want to fall back into weak habits.

I don’t expect an immediate reply, and I might not get one at all if he’s busy, so there’s nothing to do but put my car in gear and head to the store.

?

This is easy.

Smooth sailing.

I’d actually forgotten how much I enjoyed grocery shopping, pushing my cart up and down the aisles with my written list in hand. Many people operate from fancy apps on their phone that keep track of what they have in their pantries as well as what recipes they plan on making, which in turn generates a customized shopping list. While I am indeed a twenty-first-century girl and I happily embrace new tech, I prefer to write out my lists, partly because I’m an impulse shopper and seeing a particular ingredient might spur an idea for a meal. Somehow, shopping from a piece of paper versus an app makes me feel like I can indulge my spontaneity. But also because I get most of my recipes from my grandmother’s handwritten index cards, and it’s just as easy to flip through them and write out what ingredients I need.

I make my way around the entire store and collect everything on my list. As I move past the paper products, I notice that all the checkout lines are three and four carts deep. I decide to take another stroll through the produce section for more fruit, and then into the baking aisle—maybe I’ll make a coffee cake for breakfast.

By the time I roll back to the registers, the lines are just as long as before, so I settle in for a wait.

Twenty minutes later, I’m checked out and have all my groceries bagged and loaded into my shopping cart to wheel out to my car. I move to the motion-sensor sliding doors, mentally calculating the time I have to get everything going so we’re not eating too late.

The doors slide open, and I come to a dead halt. It’s dark outside. The sun set while I was taking that last pass around the store.

Which I now realize was probably an avoidance of leaving the safety of the store and walking through a parking lot.

I look outward and can actually see my car parked no more than thirty yards away. While the night sky is dark, there’s adequate lighting all around. People push carts out the door and other people walk in.

It can’t be any safer.

Taking a deep breath in, I let it out slowly.

You got this, Sophie. Just a short walk through a well-lit parking lot with other people around.

Easy to do.

Just need to go.

One foot in front of the other.

Nothing happens. I’m frozen in place, my body unwilling to do what my brain is ordering.

Maybe I need a running start.

I wheel my cart around and push it back into the main part of the store. I hang a right before the registers and start toward the produce section, making an outer-perimeter loop counterclockwise around the store. I pass the meat department, seafood, and then dairy. I walk to the frozen section, jonesing for a tub of ice cream because sometimes I can be a stress eater. I ignore the temptation and determinedly head toward the exit.

I push my cart a little faster.

The doors glide open, and I tell myself to keep going.

Go, go, go.

A growl of frustration warbles out as I yank the cart to a screeching halt.